


Threshold

by Saber_Wing



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, I'm surprised I held out as long as I did, Injury, Seriously actual whump trash, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-03 03:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15810270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: Noctis knew his limits. He was just stubborn enough to ignore them until they were really bad.





	1. Chapter 1

Noctis felt like shit.

It wasn't 'stay home and pull the covers over your head' bad, but it was pretty close. He grimaced, sliding from the car as Ignis opened his door for him.

His adviser frowned. "Are you sure you're all right, Noct? You're looking a bit out of sorts."

Noctis waved him off. "I'm fine, Iggy."

It was just a headache. Barely beginning to veer into migraine territory, but a headache nonetheless. His knee throbbed – Noctis resisted the urge to rub it. The rain had broken after a solid week of downpours, but the damage was done. It would probably ache for awhile; lingering damage the Marilith left behind. Usually the aches and pains weren't more than he could push to the back of his mind. Today was an unpleasant exception.

"Do you have your brace with you?"

Noctis was  _sure_ he hadn't mentioned it, but nothing got past Ignis. He rolled his eyes, unzipped his bag, and pulled out the hinged, velcro brace he sometimes carried around. "Yes, mom." He adamantly refused anything even vaguely resembling that gold monstrosity his father wore. He shuddered, putting thoughts of Regis' ravaged body from his mind before they legitimately depressed him.

"Please put that on before you engage in anything even remotely resembling training today."

"Don't worry, I will." And Noctis meant it. He hated the limitations of his body, but he wasn't an idiot. His knee had been threatening to buckle all day—he knew his limits.

Most of the time.

With one last subtle threat of bodily harm should Noct even think of disobeying him, Ignis slid back into the driver's seat, promising he would return to pick him up later in the evening.

Noctis waved, then spun around to head inside. A wave of vertigo struck him, and he pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. Moving too quickly was a very bad idea. He shook himself, nodding at the guards on the door, who inclined their heads and kindly didn't comment when the prince tripped over the last step.

He finally made it through the doors, wincing once away from prying eyes. Shit, that hurt. He'd wrenched his knee with that little misstep. His limp felt noticeably worse.

Noctis clicked the side button on his phone, checking the time. Gladio wouldn't be expecting him at the training grounds for another hour. His rooms weren't far from there – he probably had time to swing by and soak his knee for a bit before he got the crap kicked out of him.

Much as he hated to admit it, getting through tonight would be a struggle. He took a moment to thank the Six that tomorrow was Saturday, and Ignis might feel sorry enough for him to let him sleep past noon for a change.

Decision made, he pressed the appropriate button on the elevator and settled down to wait. Noctis sighed, resting his head against the cold metal wall. He straightened up with great reluctance, just in time to see the elevator doors slide open and Clarus Amicitia join him inside. Noct's eyes widened. It was rare to see him away from Regis' side in the middle of the day.

"Oh Gods, you're alone. Is my Dad okay?" Noctis quipped, incredulous.

"He's in a private meeting, and having the time of his life, I'm sure." Clarus didn't smile, but his face softened into something...well,  _something._ His head hurt too much to puzzle it out. As if on cue, a sharp pain stabbed behind his eyes, and Noctis squeezed them shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes a moment later to see Clarus gazing down at him, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

Noctis waved him off. "Headache." His knee chose that moment to spasm, and he stumbled. He was forced to grab onto the handrail not to fall flat on his face.

Clarus frowned. If anything, Noct's flippant dismissal, and that damn stumble, only sharpened his gaze. The King's Shield inclined his head, indicating Noct's traitorous appendage. "Just your head?"

Noctis shrugged. "It's been raining a lot. You know how my knee gets." He could only hope the man wouldn't press further than that—he didn't want this getting back to his father. Regis had enough to worry about without people reporting Noctis' every sniffle.

Clarus paused, eyes drilling into him. For a moment, the prince genuinely thought he might throw him over his shoulder and drag him to the infirmary. It wouldn't be the first time. To Noctis' relief, however, he nodded his acceptance, but not without fixing him with a stare that could have commanded the Old Wall by itself. "Very well. I'm going to trust you, Your Highness. Surely you wouldn't be irresponsible enough to conceal a more serious matter, would you?"

Noctis pointedly ignored his throbbing knee, shooting an angelic smile at his father's best friend. "Cross my heart."

"I mean it, Noctis. Your father will have my head if I let you walk away from me, and you fall down a flight of stairs."

"Don't be silly, Clarus. That's why we're in an elevator. No stairs."

The Shield loosed a put-upon sigh, gripping the bridge of his nose. If Noctis were anyone else, he was certain he'd be scraping himself off the wall. He patted him on the shoulder, grinning sheepishly.

"Seriously, Clarus. I know my limits."

"If you say so."

Noctis was almost offended by the look of skepticism Clarus leveled at him.

The elevator opened on their selected floor and the pair exited together; Noctis headed toward his rooms, Clarus to who knew where. He heard the Shield's footsteps pause behind him – Clarus didn't try to stop him, but he was watching Noctis walk away, and the prince cursed silently. There was no way he hadn't seen him limping. This would be mentioned to his dad, at least in passing.

No sense worrying about it now. Noctis resigned himself to answering an inquiring phone call or concerned text message later. Right now, his rooms and a hot bath beckoned.

After arriving at his destination and shutting the door, Noctis shrugged the backpack from his shoulder, tossing it onto a chair. He kicked off his shoes, sighing as he loosened his tie. Finally in the privacy of his own quarters, he allowed himself a grimace, doubled over with his hand on his knee. He rubbed at the joint, waiting out the angry throbs of pain. They were quickly crossing the threshold from highly inconvenient to agonizing.

He probably should have been wearing the brace this whole time. Maybe he didn't know his limits as well as he liked to think.

No. Noctis knew them. He was just stubborn enough to ignore them until they were  _really_ bad. Another wave of dizziness swept over him as he straightened – this time, accompanied by nausea—and he limped over to the couch, one hand on his knee, the other massaging his throbbing temple.

Okay. Maybe this was less a headache and more of a migraine, if the way the world tilted and spun around him was any indication. But at the end of the day, was there really a difference? He still felt like absolute dog shit either way.

_I'm a mess._

Noctis laughed. It wasn't funny, but laughing was better than crying. It occurred to him, for the first time, that it might not be a good idea to fight Gladio in this condition. Could be dangerous.

The prince squared his shoulders. He was being a baby. He was sixteen years old, he could take care of a bad headache and an aching knee by himself. Besides, he wouldn't always feel well on the battlefield, if circumstances ever put him there.

_Get up. Come on._

Noctis straightened from the couch, careful not to bend his knee or put too much weight on it. He hobbled his way down the hall, grabbing a towel and a wash rag on the way as an afterthought. He'd pop some pills and run himself a bath – hopefully he'd feel better after that. Noctis couldn't risk any of the heavier pain killers before training, but he'd have to later if he wanted to sleep tonight.

Ten minutes later, he was lowering himself into the steaming hot tub. Noctis sighed as he sunk beneath the water, eyes fluttering. Heat always helped when his old wounds were hurting. He leaned his head back against the wall, relaxing as much as he dared. He couldn't fall asleep—Gladio would never let him hear the end of it.

Gods, Noctis wished he could stay in here forever. The pain was still there, but it had faded to a dull ache, rather than the harsh, unforgiving stabs that had been chipping away at his tolerance slowly for the past week. The relief almost brought tears to his eyes. As it was, Noctis bit his lip and fought them back, but it was a near thing.

He couldn't avoid the brace anymore – continuing to do so was probably stupid. He winced, sharp stabbing pains shooting through his knee as he bent it, even enveloped in the water. Definitely stupid.

Even so, Noctis couldn't help but picture cold, twisted metal, closing around his father's leg like a gilded cage. He wondered how heavy it was – if it hurt almost as much as the knee did. He wondered if Regis ever looked at it and saw the same thing his son did.

A fast approaching coffin.

The tears did come then, and he swiped at them, furious. His father was dying a slow, painful death, and here Noctis was complaining about a knee he'd probably fucked up himself. All he had to do was wear his stupid, Velcro, not-a-big-deal brace.

Noctis allowed himself about twenty more minutes to soak – and wallow—before reluctantly draining the water from the tub with a mournful sigh. He might have stayed in just a bit too long, because his skin was red, bordering on raw, and his limbs felt weak. Noctis couldn't bring himself to regret it though—his knee felt marginally better.

He shut his eyes, bracing himself against the wall. The vertigo that had been plaguing him for the past hour returned with a vengeance. It crashed over him in waves. That was fine though. Noctis would pop those fever reducers, slip the brace on, and crawl to that training session if he had to.

Preoccupied, he stepped out of the tub with the wrong leg, realizing what he'd done just a moment too late.

His knee buckled. Noctis tried to catch himself, frantically grabbing at the countertop in front of him, but the surface was so slick with condensation, his hand slipped off. He fell the rest of the way, bashing his head against the corner with a sharp cry.

He saw stars. His vision darkened around the edges as he crashed to the floor, stunned.

Noctis breathed deep, giving himself a moment to adjust. He could  _not_ pass out. Blood gushed from a gash in the middle of his forehead – enough that it fell into his eyes. After a few moments of groping behind him, he found a wash cloth and pressed it to his wound.

Slowly, he pulled himself into a sitting position with a grimace. This was bad. He should seek medical attention.

The thought put a bad taste in his mouth, but head wounds were nothing to mess around with. Noctis might have been stubborn, but he wasn't an idiot. The prince considered his options, struggling not to panic through the near-blinding pain. His stomach churned—a cold chunk of ice had settled there, and he clamped a hand over his mouth, fighting tooth and nail not to lose the contents of his stomach. This was bad enough without vomit entering the equation.

He could limp into the hallway and seek out the nearest Crownsguard. The last thing he needed, however, was every soldier in the Citadel being called to his location. Which is exactly what would happen. He might die of embarrassment before he ever heard the newscasts. ' _Prince Noctis swoons in bathtub: details at eleven!_ '

Calling medical directly would cause just as much fuss, if not more. Every doctor and nurse on site would swarm his bedroom, probably with the Crownsguard in tow anyway.

Hard pass on both his dad, and Clarus. Noctis would rather see headlines than pull his father out of a meeting for something so stupid. Whatever Regis was doing no doubt took precedence over his teenaged son, who apparently couldn't manage a bath without cracking his head open. Clarus was almost as bad. The Shield's concerned disapproval and unsaid 'I told you so,' were not things he wanted to deal with – now, or ever.

Cor might be a plausible option under normal circumstances, but Noctis was pretty sure the Marshall was still out beyond the Wall. He'd left last week, and hadn't yet returned to Insomnia. Also, Noctis might die of humiliation if he had to call in a literal legend to save him from his evil bathtub.

Gladio was probably here, waiting down in the training rooms. That could work, actually. Noctis would never hear the end of it, but he knew his Shield would be here in a heartbeat.

He bit his lip, head in his hands, blood dripping between his fingers. Noctis had little choice. It was either Gladio, or bleed out in the bathroom. And what a stupid death would that be?

He groped along the countertop, silently thanking the Gods he'd brought his phone with him. Noctis felt dangerously light-headed. He didn't think he should walk anywhere by himself. The prince flipped through his contacts, one hand still clutching his wound, and pressed the call button on the touchscreen. Gladio picked up on the third ring.

" _Not canceling on me are you, Princess?"_

If Noct's answering laughter was a little shrill, well, who could blame him?

"Um. Yeah, about that. Are you here?"

Noctis swore he heard the frown in his friend's response.  _"If 'here' is the Citadel, yeah. What's wrong? You sound funny."_

His stomach flipped. Blood dripped into his eyes again, and Noctis scowled, wiping it on his forearm. "You can laugh at me later, but right now, I...I'm kinda stuck. I need your help."

Gladio's tone was instantly wary.  _"Okay. I'm listening."_

"I...sort of hit my head."

Gladio didn't miss a beat. Noctis heard a door slamming in the background, and a set of thundering footsteps.  _"Where are you?"_

"My rooms."

" _I'm on my way. How bad is it? Are you bleeding?"_

Noctis blinked. Warily, he lowered the cloth from his forehead. It was soaked through, covering nearly every inch of white fabric. There was more blood staining the floor tiles, but those were mostly scattered drips. He didn't think it was enough to ensure his untimely demise. "Uh, yeah. It's dripping, but I don't...I'm not swimming in it."

" _All right. I'll be there in two minutes, tops. Keep pressure on it and keep talking to me, okay? Don't pass out."_

Noctis knew there was a very real danger of that if he wasn't careful, so, he talked. Mostly about nothing. Prompto was in yearbook club, and he'd taken some pretty bitchin' shots that were going on the front pages. His friend had been psyched about that today.

His sense of time must have been a little skewed, or maybe he even blacked out for a moment, because Noctis heard the front door opening in record time. He hung up the phone, cradling his head with both hands.

" _Noct?"_

"In here!" He shouted, wincing at the noise. His head felt like it could split any moment.

Oh yeah. It  _was_  split. Never mind.

Gladio's footsteps thundered down the hallway, and he pushed the door open, gazing down at him with a mixture of bemusement and concern. "Gods, Noct." He knelt down next to him, gently prying his hands away from his forehead. "What the hell did you do?"

"My knee was hurting, so I took a bath. I stepped on it wrong, and it buckled on me."

Gladio frowned, resting the back of his hand against Noct's forehead – the unmarred part. Noctis sighed, leaning into his touch. He knew how over-heated he must be if Gladio felt cool by comparison. The man was a traveling furnace.

"You're really hot."

Noctis' lips twitched. "Wow, Gladio, I didn't know you felt that way."

Gladio groaned. "That stopped being funny decades ago. Really though, Noct. If you wanna take a bath, I don't give a shit. I'm not your nanny, but calm down on the scalding water. I don't wanna have to come scrape you off the floor every time you pass out in here."

The prince scowled. "Oh come on, that was one time!"

Gladio rolled his eyes, gazing down at Noct. "Two."

"I'm still conscious, this doesn't count! Besides, my head felt like it was gonna split  _all day_ and now it  _is_  split. Maybe next it'll explode. It feels explod-y." His vision swam, and he shut his eyes against the nausea, stomach lurching.

Gladio definitely looked worried now. He stood up, movements hurried. "Let's get you out of here, kid. Can you stand?"

Noctis mulled it over. He frowned, nodding drunkenly when he'd come to a decision. "Yeah." He thought maybe he'd lost too much blood. Was he supposed to feel like he was floating?

Gladio didn't look convinced. He pulled him bodily to his feet. His Shield eased Noctis down onto the toilet seat and ran to grab him some clothes, helping him slip into sweats and an old t-shirt.

"We gotta go get my brace." Noctis stumbled out of his Shield's grip, grabbing the door frame for support. "'My knee's fucked."

"Oh,  _now_  you want to wear your brace. Are you fucking kidding me?" Gladio scoffed, incredulous. "Maybe if you wore it all the time, this wouldn't have happened."

Noctis rolled his eyes, quickly deciding that was a bad idea when it made the world tilt. "You can't wear braces in the  _bathtub,_ Gladio," he muttered, as if his Shield were truly the biggest imbecile on the planet.

Gladio sighed, looking every bit like a carbon copy of Clarus back in the elevator. "I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna be the first Shield in history who murders his King."

"Rude. That's treason, you know." Another wave of dizziness – honestly, it wouldn't leave him alone—crashed over Noctis, and he stumbled. Gladio pulled him against his side before he could fall.

"I'll risk the firing squad. Come on, up you go." The world swam again as Gladio swung Noctis into his arms.

"I can walk, you know."

The older boy scoffed. "You're full of shit."

Noctis mulled it over and decided that  _yes,_ he really was full of shit. He'd let Gladio have this one.

The minutes trickled by like hours as Gladio carted him through the halls. Razor sharp claws ripped through Noct's skull, digging deeper as time went by, and he choked on a sob. He wasn't sure how much of this agony was his wound and how much was the migraine, but it really didn't matter. He just wanted it to stop.

Noctis didn't care who saw them— he couldn't bring himself to. He bit his lip, struggling not to cry out as his leg shifted, sending white-hot agony shooting through his knee.

Gladio seemed to sense his distress, no matter how quiet Noctis was being. "Hold on, we're almost there."

The nausea was worse than ever, crashing over him in waves. His breath came out short and gasping, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, but he knew it was inevitable this time. He tugged at Gladio's sleeve, voice ragged and panicked. "Put me down. Put me down. Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna puke..."

Gladio hauled Noctis off to the side, and with super-human speed, managed to snatch a wastebasket and thrust it under his chin just in time for him to hurl up everything short of his large intestine. The older teen rubbed his back, somehow while managing to reach around and keep a rag pressed to his forehead – seriously, Noctis was getting him a raise when all of this was over. If he survived, that is, because right now, he was pretty sure he was dying.

Damn it. What part of 'no' did his vomit not understand?

"Gladio...when I'm gone, tell Prompto he can have my comic book collection." He spat into the wastebasket, grimacing.

"Oh, you're fine. Don't be so dramatic," Gladio muttered. He sounded worried though, so it kind of fell flat.

The prince wiped his mouth on his arm. "Ugh. This is the worst day ever in the history of bad days."

Noctis should have known better, even in his compromised state. Nothing good ever came of throwing such a blatant challenge at the universe, but he did it anyway. And not five seconds later, two of the absolute last people he wanted to see strode through the double doors down the hall.

Whatever conversation Regis had been carrying on with Cor died the instant he laid eyes on them. They must have looked a sight. Gladio supporting him with one arm wrapped around his waist, Noctis hovering over a wastebasket full of vomit, blood dripping down his face. Cor's eyebrows were raised so high, they could have touched the ceiling. His dad, understandably, looked very alarmed.

The prince groaned, burying his face in Gladio's chest. "Oh my Gods, it got worse."

"Noctis!" Regis made it over to them in record time, kneeling down so quickly, his knee brace scraped against the floor.

Noctis peeked at his father with one eye, feeling like death, and wishing with all his heart that it would take him. "I can explain." He tried to sit up, to focus on Regis' face, but his vision was blurring badly. "This is...totally not that bad, Dad."

Regis stared. His brow furrowed, eyes pinched with worry. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly slammed it shut again.

Previously, Noctis hadn't thought it was possible for his father to be struck speechless, but he could only assume hell had frozen over when Regis turned to Gladio, gesturing toward Noctis with a helpless wave of his hand. The young Shield took pity on him and filled in the blanks.

"His knee went out on him. He hit his head pretty bad on the way down."

Noctis busied himself looking anywhere but at his father's face. Or trying to, anyway. The light hurt his head, and there seemed to be two of everything.

"Hi, Cor." Noctis tried to wave at his would-be uncle, but he thought it just ended up looking like an involuntary arm spasm. He lurched toward him and somehow ended up face down in the Marshall's chest. "I didn't know you were back." His words were muffled and starting to slur, which probably wasn't a good thing.

Cor's lips twitched. He seemed unsure whether he should be amused or concerned. He glanced down at Noctis, regarding his new burden with a mixture of both. "Just in time, it seems."

Noctis tried to think of something to say, but somehow only came up with, "My head hurts."

"Yeah, I can see that." Cor nudged Regis' shoulder. "Here, hold this. I'll grab medical." He gripped Noctis around the waist and deftly transferred him into Regis' arms before striding down the hall, in the opposite direction.

Somehow, Noctis found the energy to be indignant. "H-Hey. 'm not a...a  _this."_

"Hush, son. Be still." Regis wrapped an arm around Noctis, settling him more comfortably.

The pain enveloping Noct's body was staggering. It seemed to spread from his knee, to his thigh, up his spine. His migraine wasn't letting up either—the world was spinning around him, fading in and out of focus. A shiver ripped through him violently – so badly, in fact, that he knocked his head into Regis' chin.

"Sorry. 'm sorry. You don't have to stay, Dad. I'll be okay."

Puzzlement wove itself into Regis' voice, cutting through the worry. "Noctis, I just 'happened' upon you, bleeding all over your Shield in a side hallway. I'm fairly certain anywhere else I was going can wait."

It was Noct's turn to be confused. "Don't you have important king stuff to do?"

"My 'important king stuff' can be dealt with later. Don't trouble yourself."

Noctis sank further into Regis' arms. "Okay. If you're sure. I know you're busy; if you have to leave, I understand."

"Noctis..." Regis sounded sad. That was wrong. It was almost enough for the prince to muster up the energy to lift his head. Almost.

Instead, another particularly vicious jolt tore through his skull. That damn light was unbearable now, and he buried his face in his father's chest to escape it, a pained whine exploding from his lips.

Regis tried to sooth him, running his hands through Noct's hair. Something distinctly Gladio-scented was draped over his head, and a strong hand settled on the small of his back. Noctis sighed, though his breath was so shaky, it came out more of a sob. Still, the shade helped, even if he did still wish he was dead.

Maybe if Noctis just stayed quiet long enough, the Gods would leave him alone and move on, and make somebody else miserable. He could dream.

* * *

Noctis must have faded out at some point, because one moment, he had a face full of raiment fabric, and the next, he was flat on his back. He startled, tried to rise from whatever surface he was lying on, but a gentle hand pushed him back down.

"Easy now. You've had quite a day, Your Highness." Noctis thought he vaguely recognized the voice – one of the doctors at the Citadel? He couldn't see him, though. Someone had been kind enough to drape a cold cloth over his eyes. It made him feel a bit less like he was drowning in flame.

Still, his head was spinning, and the pain in his knee seemed to have worsened. Noctis probably twisted it in the fall, aggravated it kneeling on the tile floors, or maybe even when he'd stumbled on the Citadel steps. Whatever the case, it throbbed in time with his head, feeling angry and swollen. Someone brushed against it, and he nearly screamed.

He couldn't remember it ever being so bad. Tears escaped, rolling down his cheeks from behind the cloth, but Noctis barely noticed. The pain consumed him; he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. "M-My knee..."

The doctor rolled up his pant leg, and someone hissed from beside Noctis. It must have looked bad. A warm, strong hand – his father's hand—took his, and he clutched it like a lifeline.

The doctor was speaking again. "I know you're in pain. We'll fix that, but first, I have to check your range of motion. That's going to hurt. A lot. I have to see what bothers you most, and what we can do to help. Is that okay?"

Even just the thought of it was enough for Noct to bite his lip against the sobs threatening to escape, but he nodded minutely, trying his best not to jostle his head too much. The nausea assaulted him anyway, and he wanted to throw up.

Regis squeezed his hand. "Steady, Noct."

The doctor took his leg and bent it carefully, setting his foot down flat on the bed. Noctis hit the ceiling, gripping his father's hand so hard, he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd broken it. He arched off the bed before another set of hands pushed him back down.

Noctis stilled, trying not to squirm as the doctor stretched his leg every which way. He was testing how stiff the knee was, how much damage had been done. Noctis knew that, but right now, he had never hated anything more in his life.

Someone was keening, whimpering nearby. Noctis wondered at that. It took him an unreal amount of time to realize those pathetic, stuttering, wounded noises were coming from him, and they were tearing themselves violently from his lips.

Regis kissed his temple, beard brushing against his cheek. "Shh, almost there. You're doing just fine." His dad's voice sounded funny: thick. Noctis couldn't make his mind work fast enough to understand why. Vaguely, he realized he'd bitten through his lip, if the taste of copper, and the muffled curse in the background was any indication.

The doctor held his leg up and bent it downward, and all semblance of rational thought fled. The man may as well have stabbed him in the knee-cap. Lightning bolts of agony pierced through him, white-hot and dizzying, racing from his leg, up his spine. And it hurt, it hurt, oh  _fuck_ it hurt...

"Stop. Stop. Stop." Noctis barely recognized his own voice - hurried, thready, and desperate. Agony warping it into something primal.

The mattress dipped. A pair of arms came around him—Regis had climbed onto the bed with him, heedless of their company, it seemed.

"Enough. For Shiva's sake, man." Noctis heard Cor's voice, barely aware of anything but the hysterical, half-coherent mess this agony had turned him into.

The doctor's reply was lost on Noctis. All the prince knew was that he'd eased his leg back down on the mattress. Some agreement must have been reached, or maybe the doctor just felt sorry for him, because soon after, a wonderful warmth spread through him, and the agony ebbed away.

Noctis was sobbing in earnest now, choking on tears and blood. He crawled closer to Regis as best he could, trembling. Later, he was sure he'd be embarrassed, weeping and clinging like a child, but that was a problem for future Noctis. Right now, he was just so grateful his dad was here, he didn't care about anything else.

Regis threaded his fingers through his hair, murmuring to him in a tone he hadn't heard since childhood. "There now, it's all right. You're all right."

Noctis, overcome, couldn't hold on anymore. He didn't want to. Darkness swallowed him up, and he fell into it without another thought.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It had been years since Regis dared to find himself holding back tears, in any public setting.

Eight years, to be precise. Memories of the Marilith rose unbidden in his mind—of a little boy, covered in blood, unmoving in his father's arms. Regis was half-hysterical at the thought he might already be dead.

Noctis was still now, too. He lay curled on his side, one hand tangled in the sheets. His head had been bandaged, his lip sanitized and wiped clean where he'd bitten through it. Tear tracks were partially dried on his face, smearing a worrying amount of blood down his cheeks. Regis knew from experience that head wounds tended to be bleeders, but the thought didn't settle his churning stomach.

His son had finally passed out, after what was perhaps the most wretched ten minutes of Regis' life. His child's agony brought back more than a few unpleasant memories. Namely those first few, awful sessions of physical therapy, where Regis bit back curses and watched him sob through every step he took.

Noct's knee looked dreadful: a swollen, reddened mass. The doctor thought he'd strained a few tendons damaged by the Marilith – twisted it, perhaps, aggravated by the swelling and inflammation from the past week's rain storms. Miraculously, nothing was torn.

The door to their private room slid open. Clarus walked in, demeanor so grim he could have been trudging up the steps of a funeral parlor.

Regis hadn't moved from the mattress – couldn't bring himself to. Noct's head lay pillowed on his thigh. Clarus' eyes softened. He gazed down at Noctis, something like guilt dragging at his expression.

Regis raised an eyebrow, questioning.

"I ran into him earlier, in the elevator. 'I know my limits,' he said. I knew better."

"It's not your fault, Clarus. Noctis knows better than to push this as far as he did. I'm sure he even thought he was telling you the truth, at least on some level." Regis sighed, shaking his head. "He's stubborn, not stupid. Misguided, certainly, but  _never_  stupid."

Clarus' lips twitched. "I seem to recall King Mors describing someone with those exact traits."

Regis didn't quite smile, but he snorted, all the same. He took a damp rag from the basin of water on the side table, wiping the bloody tear streaks from Noct's face. "Hush, you. Quite beside the point, I should think."

Clarus sat heavily in the chair beside the bed. "Is it? You  _were_ this boy, in your youth. Who better equipped to address such 'misguided' stubbornness?"

"I suppose you're right. I can't understand this aversion he has to that damn knee brace."

Clarus leaned forward, caressing Noct's cheek with a thumb. Regis smiled despite himself. His friend was by no means cold or unfeeling, but the moments where he would drop his mask – his shield, as it were – were few, and always chosen with care. Affection was a rare and wonderful thing coming from him. "How bad is it?"

Regis dipped the rag back into the basin; the water dripped crimson when he wrung it out. "His head wound bled a lot, but it's largely superficial. The doctor doesn't think there's been any lasting damage to the knee either, but that could change if he doesn't stay off it for a while. Strict bed rest. A week, at least."

"And you? Are you all right?"

Ah. The million-crown question. Regis scoffed, eyes hard. A chuckle escaped his lips: ragged, more broken than he cared to admit.

"I should have said no. Noct was in so much pain already. Checking that damned knee could have waited, but I allowed it."

Clarus remained silent, compassion in his gaze. Regis knew better than to hide. After so many years together, there was little he could keep from his Shield. Regis imagined how he must look: raiment discarded, suit jacket rumpled, sleeve ripped where his son tore at it too hard. He could smell the blood in his hair, knew it must be sticking up where he'd run his fingers through it. He didn't care. Regis may have been a king, but he was still this boy's father. And right now, little else mattered.

His vision blurred. The tears didn't fall; Regis couldn't allow that. Not now, not when his child lay unconscious in his arms. All the same, he nearly broke when a strong hand rested on his knee, squeezing lightly.

"He was writhing towards the end. Screaming. Begging that doctor to stop. I was...so beyond words, Cor had to step in." Regis squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his fist around the rag until his knuckles ached. "What does that make of me, Clarus? What have I done?"

Steel entered his Shield's gaze. "What  _had_  to be done. We had no way of knowing the full extent of the damage otherwise. Tests and scans can only tell us so much. He could have torn something, needed surgery."

Clarus was right. Regis knew that, but it didn't matter. The only things that did were the broken, ragged sobs, tearing their way from his child's lips. Voice cracking, warping around the pain until it went hoarse with agony. It was a primal screech, ringing in his ears even now. Regis knew he would never be rid of them again: the echoes, clawing at his mind.

"You didn't hear him," Regis said, nearly choking on the words, because it wasn't enough. There weren't enough words on the planet. "We should have put him out first. Why didn't I insist?"

"His reactions, however terrible, were a good indicator of—"

Regis raised a hand, cutting him off. He couldn't bear for him to finish that sentence.

Clarus sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "What's done is done, Regis. You made the right decision. Noctis is a level-headed young man, when he's not entertaining his own delusions. He understands."

Regis didn't know if that was worse or better. Tormenting himself all night long wasn't going to help Noctis, however. He'd already indulged for far too long. He took a breath, shifting Noct's face gently, so he could clean up the other side. "I know."

Someone knocked on the door. Scarcely a moment passed before Gladiolus slipped inside, shutting it behind him.

Gladio bowed before Clarus and Regis. The young man's voice was steady, firm when he spoke, but that thousand-yard stare was hard to miss. Regis had seen the same expression clinging to his glaives as they stumbled into the throne room, fresh from the battlefield.

"I set up a tighter guard for Noct."

Regis smiled softly, his own anguish forgotten for the moment. "Thank you, Gladio. I want you to know it brings me great comfort that Noctis turns to you, in times of need. If he hadn't trusted you enough to call you, I shudder to think what could have happened."

Gladio blinked, looking so shell-shocked, Regis felt his heart twist. He couldn't imagine the young man had ever seen so much agony displayed in another living person. Raw, primal, and ripped from Noctis—a boy he'd sworn to protect.

"I...yeah. He's..." Gladio took another step toward the bed, gazing down at Noctis with troubled eyes.

The moment passed. The teenager's back straightened, shoulders tense. "I've gotta go check the rotations. I'll make sure he's safe." Gladio all but scowled down at the mattress, as if it were responsible for the sorry state of its occupant. He nodded at each of them in turn and all but ran from his charge, slipping through the doorway without a backward glance.

Clarus watched him go. The indecision on his face spoke volumes.

Regis pursed his lips. "Will you go after him?"

"No. He's an Amicitia. He doesn't fully understand what that entails. Not yet. The sooner he learns, the better off he'll be. Coddling won't do him any favors." Clarus hesitated despite his words, glancing back at the door.

"Gladio was present throughout the whole procedure, I expect? The writhing, screaming parts, specifically."

Regis nodded, expression grim.

Under different circumstances, he might have laughed when Clarus all but groaned his response. "I'd better go find him before he hurts someone." He looked back at Regis, taking in his sorry state of attire. "I don't suppose I can tear you away long enough for a change of clothes?"

Regis raised an eyebrow. He didn't think he should even dignify that with a response. He merely replaced his blood-stained rag with a fresh one, dipping it back into increasingly dirty water. He'd set to work on Noct's hands next. They were, quite possibly, worse than his face had been.

Clarus sounded so tired when he rose from the chair, Regis almost felt bad about giving him a hard time. Almost. "I'll bring you some, then."

"Good man."

* * *

Noctis knew something wasn't right the moment he regained a little awareness.

At first he just heard faint noises – words here and there. A soft hand, combing through his hair. He never fully regained consciousness. It felt more like floating through a dream. Noctis would catch snippets, but nothing that made much sense. And he was so tired, he didn't care.

He knew he should open his eyes and investigate, but then someone would caress his cheek, or they'd take his hand, and insignificant things like where he was or what was going on around him seemed shockingly unimportant. Noctis might not understand why, but he knew he was safe. Everything else could sort itself out later.

Eventually, he came out of the haze just enough to be curious. There was rustling in the background. A voice, humming. He recognized it from childhood. From bedtime stories, and his sick room when he was eight.

Noctis blinked lethargically; it took a few tries to get both eyes open together. The sight that greeted him was so bizarre, he could only blink a few more times, trying to banish what clearly must be a hallucination.

Because his dad was sitting at his bedside, dressed more casually than he'd seen in years—in slacks and a cashmere sweater, of all things. Reading a book. As in, a  _book_ book. A collection of classic stories enjoyed only by old people. Or maybe Ignis.

The young prince tried desperately to make sense of the sight before him. Regis was sitting at his bedside, wearing normal-people clothes, and reading a  _fucking book._ Like he wasn't the actual king of a goddamn country. Like he didn't have anything better to do. Like—a regular man. But there was something more. Something deeper. His eyes harbored shadows, the skin underneath puffy and dark. He looked as if he hadn't slept all night. Noct tried to force his sluggish brain to comprehend what kind of unholy, awful thing could have happened to prompt this.

He dragged his gaze downward. His knee was elevated by pillows, wrapped in some kind of compression bandage. There was definite IV tubing extending from his left arm. Something was wrapped around his head, brushing against his ears. Felt like gauze.

Oh.

Oh  _no._

His knee went out. His knee went out, he'd cracked his head open like an idiot, and now he was in the Citadel infirmary. With his dad sitting at his bedside, reading a book like a normal person. He must have made some noise of dismay or otherwise given himself away, because Regis' eyes flicked up from his novel, and his face brightened. _  
_

"Noct!" Regis dog-eared the page he'd been on, setting the book aside. "How are you feeling?

He was sinking into existential crisis mode, actually, but his dad didn't have to know that. "Uh...good? Fine. I'm fine. What are you doing here?"

Regis frowned. "I'm not sure where else I would be."

_Literally anywhere else, maybe?_

"I don't understand. Don't you have—"

"'Important king stuff,' to do?" Regis waved a hand dismissively. He leaned over, fussing with the pillows under Noctis' leg. "Not anymore. Delegation is a wonderful thing. Everyone has been very accommodating under the circumstances."

Just how much had his little accident upset things around the Citadel? Noctis felt his cheeks grow hot. "Dad...this is not that big a deal. It's actually really fucking stupid."

"Language, Noct."

"Really, though! So, I hit my head. Big deal. You don't have to disrupt your whole life for this."

Regis made a dismayed noise deep in his throat. He shifted from the chair to the edge of Noct's bed, cupping his cheek. "You are my life."

Noctis squeezed his eyes shut, pained.

He didn't doubt his dad's love for him—quite the opposite, in fact. Regis probably loved him  _too_ much. Putting their people's needs before his own son couldn't be easy, but he had no choice, right? Noctis would never ask his father to choose between him and Insomnia, but they both knew what his answer would be. Did Regis really have to lie about it? Did he have to look at Noctis with those kind, green eyes and tell him something they both knew wasn't true?

Noctis shook his head, holding back tears. "You can't say that and mean it. Our people..."

"Are my charge. And I gladly give life and limb for them, but I'd hardly be in a position to do so if I ever lost you. The thought is too terrible to ponder." Regis' face was open, sincere. "They may be my bond, but you are my heart. I need you to understand that."

Noctis might be embarrassed, if he wasn't so skeptical. "But..."

Something in his tone must have given away Noct's disbelief. Regis frowned. "Is that truly so hard to believe?"

"Well, yeah. Kind of." The moment the words were out of his mouth, Noctis wished he could take them back. He didn't think Regis could have looked more hurt if he'd been gutted and hung by his entrails.

Noctis back-pedaled so fast, he swore he was going to fly off the bed. "That wasn't supposed to sound so bad. I didn't mean it like that, Dad."

"Noct..."

"I know you love me. I don't want you to think I don't, of course you do, why wouldn't you?"

"Noct..."

"But it's more important to look after our people, and everybody depends on you, not just me, they need you. You don't have to worry about me being jealous, or I don't know, doubting your commitment to me, because I know you love me, it's just not as important as—"

"Noctis!"

The prince jolted. He couldn't remember the last time Regis shouted like that. It stopped his rambling. His dad cupped his face with both hands. "Don't bury your feelings to spare mine. Please tell me the truth."

Noct could feel his eyes burning. No. Nope. He was not going to cry. "I-I don't know. Like I said, I know you love me." A tear escaped despite Noct's best efforts, and he scowled at it, betrayed.

Regis wiped it away with a thumb. "But?"

"But nothing, it doesn't matter. It's stupid, and childish, and it doesn't matter, so just drop it, okay?" He jerked away from Regis, scooting back as best he could with his knee propped up.

So much time passed, Noctis thought for sure Regis would just leave. Maybe he already had, and his ears had just been too kind to tell him that. Eventually, however, his father touched his hand. Slowly, hesitantly, as if to give Noct time to pull away.

He didn't. Regis threaded their fingers together, murmuring softly.

"It matters to me. I won't force you to talk to me, Noctis, but if you change your mind, my ear is always yours."

Noctis cursed. His breath hitched. Gods, did he have to be so...so  _fucking_ wonderful?

"Ugh. Stop. Just...stop."

Regis cocked his head, mystified, but Noctis didn't care to answer the question in his father's eyes. Instead, he raged at the Gods.

It just wasn't  _fair._

If Regis had been a bad father, it wouldn't matter that he was dying. It wouldn't matter that he needed a brace to walk; that sometimes he stumbled, even with a cane. It wouldn't matter that he shrouded himself in the finest silks, silver, and gold, as if that could mask the decay clinging to him, like a mantle.

But he wasn't a bad father. He was a father who checked on Noctis when he was sick. A father who ended every call with,  _'I love you.'_  A father who stayed with him every step of the journey to Tenebrae, who sang to him when the agony kept him awake and he couldn't fall asleep.

Regis was fantastic. The best father anyone could ever ask for, and Noctis couldn't do anything for him. He couldn't even manage a bath and a bum knee.

His father's brow furrowed with confusion. "I can't 'stop' if you won't tell me what it is I've done, Noctis."

What  _he'd_ done?

Noctis laughed. An edge of hysteria crept into his tone, but he was beyond caring. "Why are you so good to me? How do you find the time? Is it penciled into your itinerary, right between 'die a little more' and 'attend council meeting?'"

Regis froze. For Noctis, it was as if the world froze with him. His father's expression grew very still. For almost a full minute, he didn't speak. When he finally did, it was in a voice so level, it frightened him.

"Ah. That's what this is about."

Impending death wasn't ever one of their dinner topics, obviously, but it hung unsaid between them. Noctis knew he was dying. Regis was aware that he knew this, and they just...ignored it. It wasn't like either of them could do anything about it. Insomnia needed The Wall more than Noctis needed his father. What else was there to say?

Until now, at least. With that last comment, Noctis had made it impossible to ignore the elephant in the room. He wasn't sure if he was relieved, or if he wished they could just go back to ignoring it.

"I suppose that's also why you won't wear your brace. It reminds you of this." Regis tapped the gilded, metal monster clamped around his leg. There was something impassive in his father's eyes—a calm acceptance. "Reminds you of  _me."_

Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks. Ashamed as he was of his actions, Noctis couldn't look away as Regis held his gaze, green eyes haunted. "Am I wrong?"

Yes, he was wrong. He had to be.

The reason Noctis didn't want to wear his brace was because he hadn't needed it. It just hurt a little, and then a lot, but it wasn't anything he couldn't bear. It wasn't anything like what Regis had to endure day after day. He could bear it. One Caelum with a screaming, metal death trap clamped around his leg was…

...oh, who was he kidding?

Noctis' lip quivered. He drew into himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach. "I know I'm supposed to just accept it, like a good Lucian heir or whatever, but it's not fair. Why does that hunk of rock get to take you away from me?"

The sorrow in his father's eyes almost broke him. Regis touched his shoulder, but Noctis jerked away, whirling on him.

"No, stop! You can't even summon weapons anymore, Dad, and yet here you are wasting energy on me. You're going to die. I'm gonna lose you anyway, so what's the point? I can't pretend I'm okay with you throwing yourself on your sword, but that doesn't mean you should have to listen to me complain. You have enough to worry about, so just stop adding me to the list, okay?"

Regis looked bewildered. He blew out a breath, sighing deeply. "You know I can't do that, Noct. Your wants and needs are and always will be important to me. If what you need is to talk through my... _declining health_ , then that is what we'll do. I don't think I understood how deeply this was hurting you, my son. I'm sorry."

Noctis shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "You're the King. It's not your problem."

Regis gripped Noctis by both shoulders, shaking him. The frustration twisting his features made the young prince gasp. "I am your  _father_. And of all the titles I've held:  _'Your Grace_ _', '_ _Your Highness_ _', 'Your Majesty'._ _..'Dad'_  has always been my favorite."

Noct's vision blurred – he couldn't see his father through the tears.

Regis leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. "And although my youth has been washed away, my longevity, that is something no Crystal will ever take from me. Please don't let it, Noctis. Don't let it take you from me so soon."

The dam broke. Sobs exploded from his lips, and Noctis let them come. He threw himself at his father, arms tightening around him like a vice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, I'm  _sorry..._ "

Regis kissed the top of his head, voice thick. "I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to promise me you will take better care of yourself. I don't want to hear you've let your knee get this bad again. Ask for help if you need it. If you can't talk to me, talk to Ignis, or Gladio. Even Clarus, it doesn't matter. Just please, don't make this pain worse than it has to be. You've been harming yourself on my account. It must stop. Now."

Noctis bit his lip. Was that what he'd been doing? Harming himself by refusing to wear a brace and keeping his feelings locked up inside? He hadn't thought of it that way before, but if it was upsetting his dad so much, maybe...

As if predicting his line of thought, Regis leaned back far enough to take Noct's chin in his hand, lifting his head until their eyes met. "And I don't want you to do it because it upsets me. I can't stop my life from draining away, but I won't let it drag you down with me, Noct. I won't allow it. Do you understand?"

Noctis nodded, leaning into his touch. He understood. He didn't like it, but he understood. "I'll try."

Regis pulled him back into a heartfelt embrace. "That's all I ask."

The prince relaxed, cheek pressed against Regis' chest. "I really didn't mean for it to get so bad. I just didn't want anyone to worry."

"I know. But when someone loves you, Noct, sometimes it's their job to worry. It's a bit unreasonable to ask us not to, don't you think?"

Noctis sniffled. "I guess so." He must have sounded shockingly unconvinced, because Regis chuckled.

His father sobered, resting his chin on top of Noct's head. "One day, I'll depart this realm, as all people do. But it is not this day. I'll fight to stay with you. As long as I'm able. I want to make the most of every day we spend together, Noctis. Every moment. Can you do that for me?"

Noctis could feel his energy waning. He was leaning more of his weight against his father by the second. "Yeah."

"Good." Regis kissed his forehead, helping Noct lie back against the pillows. "I didn't mean to get you so riled up. You should rest. Are you in any pain?"

Noctis wasn't, but he thought he should be. Some of what happened after he fell was kind of fuzzy. The last thing he remembered clearly was being in the hallway with Gladio, Regis, and Cor. Everything after that was just a big, black void of nothing but pain, pain, and more pain.

"Noctis?" His dad looked worried now, and he realized he hadn't actually answered the question.

"No. I'm fine." He couldn't really feel anything. A little floaty, maybe. Which, after the week he'd just had, was a godsend.

Regis looked at him, with narrowed, stern, 'dad' eyes.

Noctis gulped. "It doesn't hurt right now. Honest."

"Tell me if it does."

Noctis smirked, fighting the pull of his eyelids. "Only if you promise you'll go sleep or something. You look awful."

Regis scoffed. "My son, the critic. I will, don't trouble yourself." His dad adjusted the pillows under his leg, pulling the sheets up to his chin.

Next time he felt awake enough, he should ask about the guys. Noctis hoped Iggy wasn't too worried, and that someone had thought to text Prompto. Another person popped into his head, and he winced, startling his poor father.

"What's wrong? Do I need to grab the nurse?"

Noctis waved him off, sighing. "No. Just...on a scale of one to ten, how mad is Clarus?"

Regis actually  _laughed_ at him, which didn't bode well at all. "Oh, you'll find out, I'm sure."

"I'm dead." He threw his head back into the pillows with a groan. "You wouldn't actually let him kill me, would you?"

His dad chuckled, wiping the last of the tears from Noct's cheeks. "He'll hang for the treason, at least."

"You are a kind and gracious King."

"I do try."

Noctis loosed a watery chuckle, letting his eyes slide closed. He couldn't say losing his dad the way he was felt any less awful now than it had before, but maybe that was okay. What Regis said really hit home - he didn't want to waste the time they had left. The young prince just hoped they still had a good many years left together.

As he felt a hand run through his hair, he knew he wanted to cherish this while it lasted, no matter how much it might hurt later.

His eyes were too heavy to open now, but his father was humming a familiar tune. One Noctis hadn't heard since he was little and hurting. He drifted off with a smile, feeling overwhelmingly loved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, thanks so much for all of the support, kudos, and comments! It means a lot! Also, special thanks to my beta, Bebedora, who always takes time out of her busy schedule to edit, and help me polish up the finish on these works for you guys.
> 
> This got a lot more emotional than I thought it was going to, but I'm glad it did. Nobody likes to think about death, Noctis least of all, when the reminders get shoved into his face on a daily basis. Poor baby. A different kind of whump happened here.
> 
> Also, side note: this has nothing to do with anything, but if you haven't played A King's Tale, this short, adorable PSN title, please do yourself a favor and download it at once, by any means necessary. It took maybe an hour and a half to two hours to beat, but my God it was cute as fuck. I will say only this: it involved Regis and his band of misfits, and it's told in the guise of a bedtime story for Noct. The story was quite simplistic, but the fighting was surprisingly fun. And did I mention it's cute as fuck?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I made this about Gladio.

Noctis was screaming. To Gladio, he'd never stopped.

He'd thought about trying to sleep, but it was all he could hear, echoing in his head, screeching and terrible. The sound was driving him crazy. Ever present, like white noise in his head. Several sets of Crownsguard forms and practice dummies later, and it still wouldn't leave him.

Gladio cursed, thrusting his broadsword into the ground with a frustrated growl.

Noctis was a walking disaster in human form. This wasn't the first 'S.O.S.' phone call Gladio had received over the years. Inevitably, the prince would always find a way to get in over his head, and that was where his Shield came in.

If anyone wanted to hurt Noctis, they would have to kill Gladio first. Everyone knew that. He made sure they knew it. He even shadowed the kid at official events, and acted as bodyguard when he was out with Prompto. Not all the time—just often enough that potential threats remembered the prince had a Shield who could fuck them up _._

Occasionally, he was also a shoulder to cry on. A friend when Noct needed someone. He cared about the little shit-head, and he tried to look after him. He couldn't intimidate Noct's agony, though. Couldn't wash away his tears with a sword. Couldn't silence his screams with a well-placed remark, or a ruffle of his hair.

_Fuck, this is stupid._

What was Gladio so broken up for, anyway? Noctis was fine. He was safe and sound in the infirmary, drugged to the teeth, and a whole lot happier than his Shield right now.

And yet, he couldn't forget – couldn't shut those screams up with a fist.

The doors to the training room he'd taken over swung open, and Gladio glanced over his shoulder long enough to notice his father standing there. Clarus approached, arms behind his back.

Gladio scowled. He wasn't in the mood for whatever lecture the man had prepared. He didn't want to hear it.

Clarus raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the piles of ruined dummies scattered haphazardly all over the room. "Rough night?"

His father's tone was so dry, Gladio wasn't sure if he should laugh, or punch him in the face. He settled on grunting and snatching his broadsword from the ground before going back to brutalizing his latest victim. He savaged his way through a few more maneuvers, barely sparing Clarus a backward glance.

"If you came to lecture me, just get it over with."

Clarus narrowed his eyes dangerously. "I am aware you've had a rough time of it, Gladiolus, so I am going to let your disrespectful tone slide. For now. But consider this a warning. You won't get another one. That being said, I didn't come here to yell at you. I know what you saw today was...difficult."

Gladio paused despite himself. He swung his sword in a sweeping arc – the dummy's head severed, skittering across the floor.

"Look. I know what you're gonna say. I can't protect Noct from everything. What happened was just a preview, 'cause there's gonna be a lot of that while I'm his Shield. So, I might as well grow up."

Get used to it. Watch with his back against the wall, while his charge broke apart at the seams. Noctis could scream until his throat bled and his head exploded, falling into fragments of shrapnel on the ground, and Gladio would still be here. Back against the wall, not doing a  _damn thing._

Clarus pursed his lips. There was a set to his jaw that told Gladio he'd gone too far. His father shook his head and took him by both shoulders. But the young Shield couldn't hear him when his lips moved. Couldn't make the words matter more than the screams.

Because Noctis was arching off the bed—Gladio could see his teeth where they'd broken through his lip, and he was keening. Screeching. Thrashing like an animal. Sobbing so hard, his chest would splinter and crack at any moment, and then Gladio would have to watch him bleed to death through the fissures.

Clarus was shaking him now. This time, his voice was just loud enough to cut through the static. "Gladiolus!"

Gladio blinked at him. He was startled to find himself seated on a bench with Clarus crouched in front of him, his sword lying forgotten on the ground a distance away. Equally startling was his father's shaken expression. He'd lost time. Minutes, maybe.

"He won't shut up." A stranger's words were falling from Gladio's lips. "He keeps screaming, and he won't shut the fuck up."

It was a rare thing to see Clarus at a loss for words. He was a man who uttered few of them, but not for lack of knowing what to say. This silence was different—heavy with uncertainty.

Clarus sat down next to Gladio, cupping his cheek with a sigh. The teenager stiffened, taken aback, but he didn't have the strength to pull away. Didn't really want to.

He leaned into his father's touch, wondering at the listlessness gripping him. At the anger that seemed to have fled, bit by bit. Trickling away a little more with every whimper torn from Noct's lips.

"You can block a blow. Take a hit, so he won't have to. But you cannot take his pain away, Gladiolus."

Gladio tore himself from Clarus' grip, fury returning with a vengeance. "I'm his  _fucking Shield_! Don't tell me what I can't do!" His eyes burned, vision blurring.

Shit.

Shit, he was  _crying._

Clarus' eyes were sympathetic, but his expression could have been carved from granite. "It is a harsh truth, but it is the truth. Noctis will fall. He will hurt. Whether it be to an assassin's blade, or the pain of an old wound, you must make ready. My King suffers every day. I know this because I stand with him—to bear witness when no one else will."

Gladio slammed his fist down onto the bench. He felt something crack beneath his knuckles. "That's not an answer, that's  _bullshit_!"

Clarus was silent for a long moment. He reached out slowly, taking Gladio's still clenched fist within his hand. He didn't understand why until Clarus was mopping blood from his knuckles with a handkerchief.

"Come." Clarus tugged him up forcibly. Gladio tried to shrug out of his hold, but he had a pretty good grip on his hand, and he didn't think pressing the issue was really worth it.

"I need to grab my gear."

Clarus waved him off. "I'll send someone for it later. Come. Now."

Gladio scowled, wiping his eyes furiously with his arm. If anything, the tears just pissed him off even more.

He barely remembered their trip through the halls at all, but eventually, the two men ended up in Clarus' study. Gladio stormed to the fireplace and flopped down into a chair across from it while his father pulled out a first aid kit, setting to work on his injured hand.

For the first time, he allowed himself to take a good look. The damage wasn't awful, but he'd clearly cracked the wooden bench—a few haphazard splinters stuck out of his flesh. He sat, impassive, as Clarus plucked them out one by one, sanitizing his wounds before binding them expertly.

"This," Clarus lifted Gladio's hand. "Must not continue. You were able to make your escape this time, take it out on unsuspecting gym equipment, but you won't always have that option. You are allowed to be upset, Gladio. There's no shame in that. But this...severe lack of control is unacceptable. It troubles me."

His father  _did_ look troubled. The creases in his brow seemed to have deepened.

Gladio scoffed. "Oh, come on. I'm not that bad."

Clarus raised an eyebrow. "Half a dozen mangled training dummies disagree, as does your hand. Today was exceptionally difficult for you. I understand that, but it is only a matter of time before these little lapses of yours begin to affect Noctis."

Gladio straightened, alarm bells ringing in his head. He could hear his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Clarus sighed, rounding the desk. "It means that you must be whatever Noctis needs you to be, and at times, that will mean a cool head." He opened a drawer and pulled out two glasses and a decanter of brandy; the good shit Gladio knew his father stashed for the really fucked up days.

"Iggy's the cool head. I'm just here to fuck people up."

Clarus gave him a sharp look. "If that's true, why are you so upset? Noctis is perfectly fine. There's nothing for you to 'fuck up' here."

Gladio ran his fingers through his hair, resting his forehead on his knees. "Just...why does he have to be such an idiot? I wanna help him, but I can't do  _shit_  when he's like this."

Clarus poured two fingers for each of them, handing one over to Gladio. He eyed it dubiously for a moment – Clarus had never offered before – but in the end, took it, with a bit of skepticism.

"You did help him."

Gladio scoffed. "Yeah, I picked him up off the floor. Anybody could have done that."

Clarus took a sip of his brandy. "Noctis didn't call 'anybody,' he called you. Not me. Not his father. Not any number of the people at his beck and call. Y _ou._ "

Gladio jerked his head up. Sure, he knew what it must have taken for Noct to call him – the kid hated asking for help. But the thought that he'd turned to _Gladio_ , out of everyone else in the world, honestly hadn't occurred to him. It was humbling.

Clarus gazed at Gladio knowingly, swirling the alcohol around in his glass. There was a foreign emotion staring up at him from his father's fearless, blue eyes. The lines on his face seemed to deepen as he spoke.

"Bearing that trust isn't meant to be easy. Every scar upon his flesh...every blemish on his soul. They will feel as your own."

Sobering words, from someone who'd spent thirty years as a Shield.

Gladio wasn't great with words. Never had been. That was what he admired so much about the people who poured their hearts into the books he read—they turned their thoughts into something everyone could see, with the naked eye.

He struggled to grasp even a fraction of what those authors had. To put to words what he'd felt, standing in that room while Noct sobbed himself unconscious today. In the end, all he could come up with was the stark, simple truth.

"I love that stupid kid. I hate him, but Gods I fucking love him."

Clarus snorted. "That's normal, trust me."

His father's phone chimed, startling them both into silence. Clarus studied the message he'd received for a full thirty seconds before rolling his eyes.

"Speaking of, His Majesty has just informed me that I brought him the wrong book. ' _No Clarus, not that one, the other one, on the other corner of my desk._   _How was I not clear?'_ "

Gladio favored his father with a sideways grin. "What are we gonna do with them?"

"Only the Gods know." He looked at Gladio askance, expression sobering. "You do realize you'll need to speak with him about this? Noctis has a very keen eye, when he puts it to use. He'll see this all over your face."

Gladio took a swig of his brandy, gut twisting itself into a tangled mess. "He can look all he wants. This isn't his damage, it's mine. I'll deal with it."

Clarus gazed at him, expression insultingly dubious. "If you say so."

* * *

Noctis woke feeling more alert this time. A little groggy, and his knee ached a bit, but he could bear it. It was still a far cry from what it had been.

He didn't see his dad; Regis had kept his promise and finally left to get some sleep. The chair next to his bed was still occupied, though. Ignis had settled into it with his laptop.

The prince couldn't help but notice his friend's appearance; he was dressed immaculately, as always, but his shirt wasn't tucked in, his hair lying flat and unstyled. Which, for Ignis, was downright unkempt.

Ignis set his laptop aside when he noticed Noct blinking at him, bleary-eyed.

"Noct," he breathed, in a tone filled with so much relief, the prince nearly winced. His adviser moved out of the chair and leaned toward him, holding a styrofoam cup with a bendy straw. Noctis took it from him gratefully. He hadn't realized how dry his mouth had been before, but now he guzzled the water down greedily.

Before long, Ignis was pulling the cup back. "Slowly, now. You don't want to choke on it."

Noctis smirked, despite everything. "Dirty."

Ignis narrowed his eyes, unamused.

Noctis sighed. He scratched the back of his head. "Okay, I'm sorry. Am I in trouble?"

"Oh, unquestionably, Highness. I can't turn my back on you for one moment, can I?" The older teen sighed, exasperated, but there was a fondness crinkling the corners of his eyes. Nevertheless, his lips curled downward at the corners, displeased.

"I know. I messed up."

Ignis raised an eyebrow at how earnest Noct's response was, but he pressed on, undeterred. "This blatant disregard for your own well-being is troubling, Highness. You're lucky you didn't cause any lasting damage to your knee. You have been placed on strict bed-rest. I believe the doctor wants to try it for a week and see how you do."

Noctis swallowed the indignation that instantly sprang to his lips. "I understand."

"If you must get up, it will be with assistance or not at all, and when you  _are_ deemed fit to face the world again, you will wear your brace, and you will use those," he gestured toward a pair of crutches, leaning against the wall next to the bed, "until further notice."

Noctis bit his lip. That was harder to swallow, but he'd promised his dad he would try.

"Okay. Fine." At least it wasn't a wheelchair. Crutches he could learn to live with.

Ignis eyed him dubiously. "You're being awfully agreeable." He laid the back of his hand against his forehead. "Are you feeling all right?"

Noctis slapped it away, scowling. "Oh, come on, Iggy. I listen."

Ignis raised his eyebrows so high, they  _literally_  could have reached up to touch the ceiling.

Noctis grimaced. "Okay, that's fair. I'm listening now, though. I promise."

"I certainly hope so." Ignis moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "How  _are_ you feeling, Noct?"

Noctis gazed down at his knee, still propped up with pillows. "Good. Fine." Cautiously, he lifted it, tried to bend it. The joint obeyed, but a stab of pain bit into it, and he set it back down again with a wince.

_Okay, ow. Maybe don't do that yet._

"Truly? How is the pain?" His adviser questioned, radiating  _so much_ concern, the prince actually felt guilty about it.

His father's voice: soft, warm as a midsummer day, rang in his head, and Noctis sighed. A promise was a promise. "It's there, but it's not bad unless I move it."

Ignis' forehead wrinkled, troubled. "What can I do?"

Noctis averted his eyes, reaching for the older teen's hand. Ignis took it without hesitation. "Keep putting up with me until I'm old, or dead?"

How someone's reply could be so simultaneously dry and warm, Noctis would never understand, but Ignis somehow managed. "Surely there's no question of that. Anything else?" He was gazing at Noctis so hopefully, the prince had to give him  _something_  to do. It seemed like a kindness more than anything else.

"I mean, I'm kind of hungry." Noct's stomach growled. It wasn't a lie, at least.

Ignis' face brightened marginally. "I suppose something can be arranged." He looked so low-key happy to have a task _,_ Noctis knew he'd made the right decision. He'd probably been fretting himself to pieces all day.

Ignis gave his hand a squeeze before moving toward the door. He pivoted on his heel, wagging a finger at Noctis. "Do  _not_ get out of that bed. Hit the call button on the television remote if you need anything."

Noctis rolled his eyes. "Yeah, mom. I've got it."

With a final stern wave of his finger, Ignis was out the door.

Five minutes later, Noctis realized he probably should have mentioned the urgent press of his bladder before Ignis left, but fuck hindsight, right? It wasn't a huge deal yet, anyway. He could wait.

Or, he could just walk there himself. The bathroom was like, two feet away. He didn't need to call a nurse for that.

Noctis worried his lip between his teeth. Guiltily, he decided on grabbing the crutches and hoping for the best. Gods, he absolutely could not fall down while doing this. He'd be grounded until he was forty.

Apparently, however, the universe decided he'd suffered enough. Noctis had just hefted his bad leg off the pillows and was shifting them both over the side when Gladio unceremoniously pounded his way through the door.

Seriously. Guy needed a raise. Noctis would speak to his dad about it later.

"Oh, good. Come 'ere."

Gladio scoffed. "Well, hello to you too."

Noctis waved him over. "Yeah, hi. I have to pee. Help me up?" He leaned his weight onto his good leg – the limb felt wobbly, but it should hold.

Gladio narrowed his eyes as he deliberately dragged his gaze down Noct's legs: incriminating, dangling over the edge of the mattress. "How'd you plan to get there before?"

Noctis glanced over at the crutches sheepishly. "Um...?"

An inscrutable look passed over Gladio's face. It was gone before Noctis had time to puzzle it out. "You're hopeless." The older teen rounded the bed and took both of Noct's hands in his, pulling him to his feet. Um...foot.

Noct smiled angelically. "Don't tell Iggy when he comes back?"

Gladio rolled his eyes. "Don't do it again, and I won't."

Using Gladio as a human crutch was surprisingly effective. Noctis mostly hopped there. He could have done that with an actual crutch, but it was nice having his Shield by his side just in case.

"Think you can manage, or do I need to come in there and supervise?" Gladio tone was casual, calm, but that weird look from before was there, along with an unreal amount of caution. Caution, and underneath that, if he looked a little deeper...

...no. That wasn't  _fear._ It couldn't be. What did Gladio have to be scared of?

Noctis wanted to question him. Call him on it right then, but standing really wasn't helping his predicament.

Pee first, grill Gladio on his definite weird behavior later. Rather than give his Shield a real response, he just rolled his eyes and slammed the door in his face. When he emerged again, the older teen was still waiting for him, leaning up against the wall.

"Come on. Back to bed." Gladio took his hand again, wrinkling his nose. "You washed this, right?"

Noct's reply was so dry, Ignis would have been proud. "What if I say no?"

"Ugh, fuck you."

The prince shrugged. As best he could while doing his walk-hobble, anyway. "Sucks to be you." Of course he'd washed his hands, though. What kind of an animal did his Shield think he was?

Gladio just grunted. Usually, he would have bit back with some scathing remark or another. Right now, though, his heart didn't seem to be in it. He helped Noct back into bed, even readjusting his pillows for him.

"You, uh...need anything else?"

Noctis blinked. Now he was being  _considerate._

Okay. Gladio was officially freaking him out. Before he could grill his Shield as planned, however, the door swung open. Noctis couldn't quite suppress a grimace at the sight of his new visitor.

"Clarus! Hey, how's it goin'?"

The look his father's Shield leveled at him could have melted adamantine.

Noctis resisted the urge to sink under the covers.

One would think the complete and utter humiliation brought on by that stare would be enough for Noctis to keep his big, stupid mouth shut, but alas. It was not to be. "At least it wasn't a flight of stairs?"

Clarus crossed his arms over his chest.

Noctis hung his head, peeking up at his would-be uncle from behind his bangs. He'd blown Clarus off pretty hardcore in the elevator. Anything he said now was going to sound super lame.

"I didn't mean to lie to you, I just...I thought I could handle it. I didn't want anybody to worry."

The King's Shield raised an eyebrow. He did a deliberately slow scan of the room, gaze lingering on Noctis a fraction too long. He kept his eyes trained on him as he spoke, tone an insulting shade of dry. "Good job."

Noctis huffed despite himself, indignant. "Rude. You don't have to be so blunt about it, you know."

Clarus shook his head with a put-upon sigh, but his shoulders relaxed a little, and it made Noctis sigh with relief. Thank the Gods, maybe he wasn't going to die after all.

Noctis did owe him a real apology though. He couldn't imagine what he'd put Clarus through. What he'd put  _all_ of them through for the past...what day was it again?

Noctis could see the lines of exhaustion carved into the worn faces of his loved ones. That bone-deep weariness...it was in Regis' shadowed eyes. Iggy's unkempt hair. Gladio's definite weirdness. Hell, it was even in the stiff line of Clarus' shoulders, and the crease in his brow.

All because Noctis couldn't put on a fucking knee brace. He averted his eyes, ashamed. "I know I've caused a lot of trouble. I'm sorry."

A large hand landed on top of his head. And Noctis knew, when he looked up into Clarus' soft blue eyes, that he was in the clear.

"Just don't make a habit of it. Regis' heart can't take it. And our training rooms only have so many practice dummies for your Shield to eviscerate."

Sometimes, he wondered if he deserved to have all of these great people in his life. Clarus should be furious with him, and he'd forgiven Noct easily. Regis had dropped everything to read books at his bedside. Iggy was being his usual micro-managing self – from Noct's sick room, which couldn't be at all productive. Hell, Gladio had dashed to his rooms and picked Noctis up off the floor; held a rag to his bleeding forehead, no questions asked.

Their loyalty almost brought tears to his eyes. Instead, Noctis placed a palm over his heart, batting his eyelashes at Gladio. "Aww, you  _do_ care!"

His Shield avoided his eyes, tried to shrug it off. "Yeah, whatever."

Clarus favored Noctis with a rare smile. "And for the record, Noctis, you are not 'trouble' to me. An occasional thorn in my side, perhaps."

Noctis blinked owlishly. "...I'm sorry, is that  _not_ the same thing?"

Clarus hummed, but didn't actually answer, which was just complete bullshit, but before Noctis could call him on it, his knee twinged unpleasantly. He grimaced, and his hand flew to it before he could think to stop himself.

Gladio's back straightened so fast, Noctis thought it might snap. "What? What's wrong?"

He thought about shrugging it off. He really wanted to, but Regis' words reared their ugly heads again.

_'Ask for help if you need it.'_

Noctis sighed.  _Son of a bitch._

"My knee kinda hurts. I think the meds are wearing off. It's no big deal, it just surprised me."

His Shield was on his feet, and already halfway to the door. "I'll grab a nurse."

Noctis shook his head. "No, it's okay." He could probably go a little bit without another dosage. The older teen looked like he was about to combust though, so he had to give him  _something_ to do _._ "I wouldn't mind an ice pack though."

His Shield jumped on it with a passion that was almost frightening in its intensity. He was out the door, and back with  _three_ ice packs in what Noctis swore was thirty seconds or less.

Noctis eyed him worriedly. He was used to Iggy fussing over him when he was hurt or sick. "Thanks."

To his surprise, Gladio refused to hand the ice packs over when Noctis tried to take them. He pulled them out of reach, rounding the left side of the bed. "I got it."

The prince scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, come on. I'm not an invalid." He grabbed for them again, this time managing to snag one.

The older teen ripped it from his hand so fast, Noctis gasped, startled.

"Gods damn it! Just listen, for once in your life, and let me do this!"

Noctis stared, openly gaping at his Shield. His mouth worked soundlessly as Gladio's brown eyes burned into him.

The moment lasted a few seconds longer before Gladio's gaze darted away from Noct. His expression was a firestorm of chaos, but his hands were surprisingly gentle as he arranged the ice packs around his knee.

Noctis took a moment to gather his composure. He snapped his mouth shut, clenching his jaw.

This had gone on long enough.

"Clarus, I need to borrow Gladio alone for a few minutes, please."

The King's Shield inclined his head, as if he'd been expecting it. "He's all yours." He gave Gladio an inscrutable look, then slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

The prince let the silence drag before speaking, heart hammering in his chest.

"What is  _wrong_ with you today?"

Gladio crossed his arms, avoiding Noct's eyes. "Nothing."

Noctis threw him a withering look.

"Fucking hell." Gladio clenched his fists. "You are! You could have killed yourself, Noct."

"Is that why you're treating me like I'm made of glass?" Noctis sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Look. I know I messed up, okay? But I'm fine now. Seriously, it wasn't all that bad."

"Wasn't that bad?" His Shield exploded, lashing out, fist connecting with the wall. "No! I pick you up, bleeding on your bathroom floor. You fucking scream loud enough to shake the walls, and you've got the balls to sit there and tell me it  _wasn't that bad?!"_

Noctis blanched, shrinking back into the pillows. Screaming?

_Wait, what?_

He remembered pain. He remembered crying. He remembered his dad, holding him. Maybe there  _was_  screaming. Noctis honestly didn't know. It all blended together in his head: an ugly mish-mash of colors and sounds. None of it made much sense.

But Gladio was upset enough to be treating him like a porcelain doll.  _Gladio,_ the annoying older brother who beat the shit out of him on a regular basis.

This was different than seeing each other roughed up in training.

Noctis tried to reach out to him, but Gladio stepped out of range.

"You don't get to fucking do that, Noctis. You don't get to go where I can't follow. I couldn't follow you, wherever you went that made you  _scream_ like that," Gladio choked: raw, vulnerable, and utterly wrecked. His voice broke on the last word, and Noctis broke with him.

Noctis hefted his legs over the side of the bed - hot jolts of pain sunk into his knee like needles. He didn't care. "Gladio, I'm  _sorry."_

"You're sorry. You do shit like this, I have to pick up the pieces, and you're  _fucking_ sorry..."

Noctis levered himself up onto his right leg, stumbling the few steps toward his Shield. The older teen wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him, almost absently.

Gladio had his eyes shut, his face averted: screwed up, almost as if he were in pain. It was only when a lone tear streaked down his cheek that Noctis understood why.

Noctis had never seen his Shield cry. Never. Not when he was young, and he'd attended the funeral of a woman with Gladio's eyes. Not when Clarus took a hit for Regis, and they hadn't known if he'd make it. Hell, not even last year, when a rogue glaive went after Noctis, and Gladio hadn't been there to protect him. He'd been upset – nearly went on a rampage, but he hadn't  _cried._

Noctis had finally managed to break him – to drive his Shield to madness. He should have been annoyed at how easily the tears came, then. At how much he'd been crying since this whole stupid thing began, but that didn't matter now.  _Words_  didn't matter now. Maybe they never had.

The prince wrapped both arms around his Shield, burying his face in his shirt.

"I'm sorry." It wasn't enough. Noctis knew that now. He could be sorry all he wanted. That wasn't going to erase the pain he'd caused his family. "I'll try to do better. I'm  _sorry._ "

Gladio's breath hitched on a sob. It was strangled, as if he'd tried to stifle it and failed. He wrapped his other arm around Noctis – buried his face in his hair. "I hate you so much, you little  _fucking_ shit."

Noctis smiled through the tears.

"I hate you too."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kind of a bitch to write, but I'm really happy with it. Hope you guys enjoyed! Also, I haven't forgotten about Prompto, I swear. He'll make an appearance. I don't neglect him on purpose, honest! xD
> 
> As always, thanks for taking the time to read, and offer support!

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't actually supposed to be more than a one-shot, but...well, now it is. It shouldn't run much longer than two or three chapters, I should think, but we'll see. I'm actual whump trash, so this was going to happen eventually. Honestly, I'm surprised I held out as long as I did. Poor baby. What the fuck is my problem?
> 
> Also, I'm starting to think these stories are just as much about tormenting Regis as Noctis, at least the ones I write, anyway. I mean, can you imagine? I bet three-quarters of that gray hair on his head is actually from Noctis. The Wall is just a convenient excuse.


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